


Think of All The Stories That We Could Have Told

by SukiAlanna



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SukiAlanna/pseuds/SukiAlanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris Prep is a quiet, out of the way school where the richest and most elite of Washington, DC send their boys to be educated. However, it and its theater department are taken by storm when Les Amis appear, set on falling in love and changing the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Love Paris

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from One Day/Reckoning Song by Asaf Avidan & The Mojos. Also, special thanks to Courfeycute and Scoutprouvaire for beta work/being the best people ever.

“Call me Enjolras,” the blond demigod who had just entered their dorm room said. It is a truth universally acknowledged, Combeferre thought, that when a hot blond in a red peacoat entered your new dorm room, you sat up and took notice. Many years later, as he faced a team of critics, Courfeyrac was to remember that distant afternoon when he discovered that Greek gods existed. Grantaire, who was there by Courfeyrac’s request, was the first to speak in response to the boy, this mysterious roommate of Combeferre’s. “Apollo, light of my life, fire of my loins, who are you and why are you here?”

“Enjolras,” he corrected. “I just introduced myself.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Did you.”

Despite the fact that it was very clearly not a question, Enjolras answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Ignore him,” Combeferre cut in. “I’m Combeferre, and these are Courfeyrac and Grantaire. I’m not really sure why either of them is here, actually.”

Courfeyrac didn’t answer, his wide-eyed, love sick gaze trained on Enjolras, Combeferre rolled his eyes; the lust was clearly visible underneath Courf’s pink heart-shaped sunglasses. It was Grantaire who explained, “We’re assisting with your unpacking, so that you don’t have to strain yourself with all of those bags.”

“It’s fine,” said Enjolras, “I think that I can get the rest pretty easily on my own.”

The three boys watched as he took himself and his perfect ass out of the room. “We are so fucked,” said Courfeyrac. The other two could only groan in agreement.

When Enjolras returned to the room, his suitcase in hand and another duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Grantaire and Courfeyrac had disappeared, and Combeferre was reading a thick book.

“Where did they go?” He asked. 

Combeferre shrugged. “I’ve found it safer not to keep a close eye on Courf or Grantaire. It’s better for my health in general.”

Enjolras nodded. “I’m sure.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I took this side of the room, by the way. We can switch if you need to.”

“I should be fine.” Enjolras grabbed his bag so he could begin unpacking. “I don’t really plan on being here very often.”

“Oh?” Despite Combeferre’s attempt at cool indifference, he had stopped reading completely, and was focused on Enjolras’s words.

“I plan on focusing on my studies and spending as much time as possible in the library, or in places more conducive to my late habits. I would hate to keep you up all night.”

Later, Courfeyrac was lounging on Combeferre’s bed. “You’ve got to be shitting me. No one talks like that.”

Grantaire, who was sitting in a corner, his head buried in a book of Ovid, spoke up. “Professor Lamarque does.”

“I’m sure they’ll get along just fine, when he gets to his advisory meeting.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “We have bigger things to discuss anyway.”

“We do?”

“‘Ferre!” He whined. “You know what I mean. You’re gonna have a hot piece of mancake rooming with you.”

“Please never say that again,” said Grantaire.

He was ignored as Courfeyrac leaned in closer to Combeferre. “He’s your roommate. Are you calling dibs?”

“You can’t call dibs on a person, Courf. Enjolras can make his own choices if he wishes to date any of us, which I highly doubt he does. We don’t even know if he likes men.”

Courfeyrac pouted at him. “I hope you know that I’m not letting this go.”

“No one thought you would.”

Three days later, Combeferre had hardly seen hide nor hair of his roommate. The last place he had expected to find his Enjolras was at auditions for the fall play, but there the boy was in all of his glory. Combeferre himself was really only there to support Courfeyrac. as he had told his friends time and time again how much of a drain on time shows were, and although he was happy to support Courfeyrac and Grantaire in their theater endeavors, it was very unlikely that Combeferre would ever willingly participate in a show. Now that he was there at auditions, however, it was suddenly very tempting to get onstage and just try.

He did not, however, instead forcing himself to take a seat next to a small boy who introduced himself as Jean. He’d informed Combeferre that he hoped he would come to see him as a friend during the show, to which Combeferre hastily responded he had no plans to actually audition. Jean had refused to believe that, and had practically dragged Combeferre over to get a number. And now his perfect roommate was onstage singing even though it wasn’t a musical and Combeferre had to go next and overall this was a disaster.

“Next,” the bored looking stage manager called. Combeferre somehow managed to stumble on stage, probably mostly thanks to Courfeyrac and Jehan’s supportive looks. He didn’t remember much of his audition or the ones that followed, but suddenly it was eleven pm and Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Jean were lounging in his dorm room. Even though school hadn’t started and wouldn’t for a few more days (Paris Prep, such named because it was neither in France nor a preparatory school, allowed students to come in up to two weeks early to begin acquainting themselves with the school, which was mostly for the children of those who hated having them around the house and wished to get rid of them as soon as possible) Enjolras was gone, most likely still in the library. Combeferre loved learning and knowledge, but even he wasn’t sure what the boy did in there for so long everyday. They didn’t even have classes yet.

“Curfew is soon,” Jean observed. “We should probably leave soon.”

“Fuck the police. School hasn’t even started yet. We don’t really have to play by their rules.”

“Yes we do, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said in the same old tired tone he often used when referring to his best and oldest friend.

Grantaire took another swig of the suspiciously colored bottle in his hand. “We should go, Courfeyrac. Getting in trouble this early isn’t worth it.”

“Even Grantaire says so, so you have to listen.”

Jean stood, gathering up the poetry books he had brought. “Goodnight, friends.” He kissed Combeferre lightly and stroked Grantaire’s hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Courfeyrac hauled himself off of the bed. “Hold on. We’ll walk you. Get up, Grantaire.”

The three left, and despite himself, Combeferre was glad to see them go. It gave him a chance to actually get some rest before Courfeyrac showed up at six am somehow entirely energized and yelled about how they’d have to get up that early all year and Combeferre might as well start now. It was easy to hate his best friend in the mornings.

It was about one am when Enjolras dragged his sorry, pathetic, noisy ass in, and Combeferre was two seconds from killing him.

“Sorry!” Enjolras whisper-yelled. “Did I wake you?”

Combeferre threw a pillow at him. “Go to sleep, dumbass.”

And that was the moment Enjolras decided that maybe this roommate thing would be at least tolerable.


	2. If I Were A Rich Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Eponine barge in on Enjolras and steal his clothes. Enjolras finds himself forming a closer friendship with Combeferre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from Fiddler on the Roof.
> 
> Scoutprouvaire read this over, and she is generally pretty brilliant! 
> 
> Also, come visit me on tumblr at julietoharaa if you feel so inclined!

Eponine was lounging across a ratty, moth-eaten couch, seemingly asleep, but Grantaire knew her better than that. She was wide awake, and she didn’t miss a thing that went on in the room around her. He was almost certain that if he asked her, she could tell him every single move in Gavroche and Montparnasse’s game of checkers, even though she hadn’t looked over there once.

He thought that he should probably get back to his dorm soon or Courfeyrac would worry, but he didn’t want to leave Ep in her father’s house. She could take care of herself, of course, probably better than he ever could. Still, he worried, even with Montparnasse around.

“Should go back to mine,” he said. “Don’t want Courf to think I’m an awful roommate a week into this.”

Eponine shrugged. “It’s your life.”

Grantaire paused for another swallow of the vodka they had been drinking. “D’you wanna come with?”

For a second he thought she was going to say no, but then a smirk crossed her face. “This Courfeyrac sounds cute. Count me in.”

The walk back to Paris Prep was mostly silent. Grantaire and Eponine’s hands were tightly entwined, the huge sleeve of her trenchcoat covering both. The night was cool and crisp around them, the humidity of summer already turning to the freshness of fall. Eponine’s hand tightened around his a miniscule amount, and he felt a surge of protectiveness. She was like the sister he had never had, sometimes, and if that meant letting her crash in his bed while he took the floor, then he could survive.

“Are we going to your dorm?” Eponine asked.

Grantaire swiped his keycard that got him back into the building. “In a moment.”

Eponine raised an eyebrow. “In a moment?”

“Look at your coat, Ep. If Javert sees us, we’ll be thrown out in seconds.”

“What’s wrong with it?” She pulled it even more tightly around herself.

“These kids are the richest fucks you’ve ever seen. I have a friend about your size, so we might as well steal some of his clothes if you’re going to hang around.” Grantaire wouldn’t call Enjolras his friend, per se, but Eponine didn’t need to know that.

She had perked up quite a bit at the word steal, and Grantaire was hardly surprised when she immediately began to jimmy the lock to Enjolras and Combeferre’s room when they arrived.

He swatted her hand away. “Hold on a sec. We don’t know if anyone’s in there.”

She shrugged. “Would’ve said it was unlocked. Just happened to get lost and wander in.”

Grantaire laughed, but knocked anyway. “C’mere!” he called.

The door opened, but he found himself looking into Apollo’s eyes. “Enjolras, what brings you here?”

“It’s my room,” the other boy said.

Next to him Eponine was laughing, but Grantaire ignored her. “Is it? I think I spend more time in it than you. Maybe I should claim ‘Ferre as my roommate. I bet he doesn’t snore.”

“Combeferre isn’t here right now,” said Enjolras.

“Good thing we’re here to see you, then. This is Eponine. Eponine, meet Apollo.”

The two walked in, right past a surprised Enjolras. Eponine headed right for his closet (Grantaire didn’t even try to guess how she immediately headed to the right one--he still sometimes sat on the wrong half of the room). She began rifling through it, tossing oxford shirts behind her.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked. He sounded horrified.

Grantaire sighed. “She needs non-shit clothes. I was hoping we could get you to give up something you don’t care about, but… that’s Ep for you.”

“So you thought of me.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Guess I did.”

“Why?” asked Enjolras. “We’ve never even had a single conversation.”

“Figured you were decent,” Grantaire mumbled, shoving his hands deep into his pocket. “Knew you wouldn’t leave Ep hanging.” The two looked at each other for a second, a blush rising to Enjolras’s face. He turned and hurried away and joined Eponine at the closet, shooting her a timid smile. “I think these jeans would fit you.”

She took the dark pants from him with a small smile in return. “Should do,” she said.

Grantaire fidgeted. “Thanks, Enjolras.”

The other boy grabbed a few v-necks from where they were hanging up and yanked them down. “You can try these, too. I never liked them anyway.”

Enjolras was a bit of a tornado as he moved through his room, discarding clothing left and right. “Here, this too. And this. Maybe…”

Grantaire managed to grab his arm as he whirled by. “Slow down for a moment, Enjolras. She doesn’t need that much.”

The other boy shrugged. “My parents buy me clothes to make up for never seeing me. Most of this stuff is probably too small anyway.”

Eponine had disappeared with some of the clothes (Grantaire decided it was probably impossible for her to carry all of them), leaving him alone with Enjolras. “Wish my parents cared enough for that.”

The two made their way over to the pile Enjolras had unearthed, attempting to sort things into two piles. One that Eponine could conceivably wear, and one that she would never touch in a thousand years. A few minutes in, Grantaire found a leather jacket in the pile. He held it up to show Enjolras, who shrugged.

“I’ve never worn it. I don’t ever really think about it.”

“You’d look good in it,” Grantaire said, and placed it into the pile they would leave with Enjolras. He continued sorting through the clothes, completely missing the blush on the other boy’s face.

Eponine rejoined them, Enjolras’s black jeans surprisingly form fitting. She was wearing a red shirt, and it looked like she had bound her chest underneath. “What are you looking at?” She asked Grantaire.

He shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

She laughed, hitting his arm. It was probably supposed to be light, but he winced all the same. “Thanks,” she told Enjolras, her tone flippant. “Come on, ‘Taire. It’s curfew.”

She waltzed out and Grantaire followed. Enjolras sat down on his bed, the two piles on either side of him. He picked up the leather jacket, considering it.

He was still sitting there, staring off into space with the jacket in hand, when Combeferre returned to the room.

“What happened here?” he asked, surveying the destruction. “A tornado?”

“Hurricane Grantaire,” Enjolras replied softly, his mind still worlds away.

“Want help cleaning up?”

“Y-yeah,” Enjolras said, looking up shyly. “I’d like that.” They worked in silence for a few minutes, hanging his clothes back up neatly, before he asked, “How much do you know about Grantaire?”


End file.
